Groceries
by ScareyQuinette
Summary: The Joker's plotting Batman's demise. Alfred's caught the flu. Harley and Bruce are forced to go to the grocery store.


Harley had put her foot down. No matter what he said, she was not going. It was two degrees out and damned if she was going to brave the cold winds again just to stock up just for his new mobster friends. They covered the house in ash from their cigars and their dogs scared her when they barked. These were not the men she had packed in her high flying career for and nothing he could say would make her go.

The second ornament he threw nearly took her eye out. Suddenly, a trip to the grocery store didn't sound all that bad. Afterall, she could take the truck - the heating in that thing went high enough to stop her toes going completely blue. With angry stomps, Harley Quinn went about wrapping herself up in every warm piece of clothing she owned and left the safe-house with a slam of the door. The Joker didn't even notice a change in her mood.

'Alfred? Alfred there's no food in the fre-' Bruce stopped short, one foot into Alfred's bedroom. His loyal butler and confidante had said he was going to tidy-up but from the looks of things, he hadn't got very far. Unless this was the start of one of Alfred's cleaning rituals Bruce had yet to observe. What he could only assume was every duvet in the mansion, had been piled around Alfred's bed and more electric heaters than Bruce knew them to own were plugged in at every available port.

'Alfred?'

The grunted reply came from deep within the duvet mountain and Bruce felt like he was unwrapping a giant Christmas present as he began to hunt for Alfred amongst the chaos. When he found him though, he barely recognised the red-eyed man infront of him.

'Good God, Alfred - are you alright?'

'Never better, master Wayne,' Alfred replied with a gastronomic sneeze.

'What the hell is the difference between Ketchup and Catsup?'

Though the mutter had been under his breath, the woman to Bruce's right had obviously heard as she replied in a sing-song voice.

'One tastes like you're liking the backside of a cat.'

'That's the catsup, right?' Bruce replied with a small smirk as the blonde woman looked at the two similar red bottles herself. She was a slight sort of girl, barely up to his shoulder with a childish face and large blue eyes.

'That's the ketchup,' she replied, 'you don't want to know what the catsup tastes like.'

Bruce smirked again, debating before he held his hand out. 'Bruce Wayne.'

The woman shook his hand with a grip firmer than he was expecting, flashing him a wide grin. 'Harley Quinn - pleased to meetcha.'

Bruce nodded as she shared her name, following her eyes to his trolley. So far all he'd managed to obtain was one meat pizza, a pack of beer and tube of smarties. So much for Alfred's warning of being bedridden for at least a week.

'Let me guess - you don't do this often, Bruce?'

'That obvious?' Bruce replied watching as Harley giggled, flicking a strand of hair that had come loose from her bunches, out of her eyes.

'Yeah, that obvious.' Harley looked down at her own trolley, only slightly more filled but she had only just started. She had poptarts for Mistah J (strawberry this time having learnt her lesson for buying chocolate with a toaster thrown across the kitchen); various meat-based snacks for the mob bosses who were now frequent dinner guests and a bottle of the strongest whiskey they stocked along with seven pairs of socks to help her survive the journey home. The heater in the truck had turned out to be broken again.

'You run the big company in the centre of the city,' Harley stated, watching Bruce who nodded.

'Wayne enterprise, yeah, I do.'

'And what exactly do Wayne Enterprise do?'

Bruce smirked a little. What didn't they do? 'You're not from Gotham are you, Miss Quinn?'

'Call me Harley - and no I don't.'

'Here on business?'

'My husband is.'

Bruce felt his eyes drop instinctively to her hand but it did no good - she was wearing thick gloves which made it nearly impossible to check her evidence. He should probably stop doing that anyway.

'What business is your husband in?'

There was a pause. Harley drummed her fingers on the trolley. 'Flowers. He's a florist.'

'A florist?' Bruce repeated.

'Yup,' Harley confirmed with a nod. 'He loves his flowers.' Well it wasn't a total lie - he had seemed to like the daisies she'd put in vases around the house. He decorated one of his clown helpers with them despite Harley complaining that daisies weren't funeral flowers.

Bruce merely nodded, looking again at the bottles before he put one of each into the trolley and grabbed several boxes at random from the freezer under the shelf.

'Are you going to be in Gotham long?' he asked after a moment, pausing in between piling random items in the trolley to bulk it out.

'As long as it takes... to sell all his flowers, that is.'

'I could show you both around if you'd like?'

Harley smirked. 'You just want dinner dates so you don't have to learn to cook any of the things you're about to buy.'

'That obvious again?'

Harley laughed, shaking her head a little, her eyes catching the light bouncing off something sticking out of Bruce's pocket slightly. Something sharp and gold. Something bat-shaped.

'That obvious,' Harley confirmed quietly, looking back up to his face. But Bruce was already looking at the shelves again.

Harley almost giggled outloud. Mistah J would be so proud. She reached into her bag, one handedly fiddling with what he liked to call the 'emergency exit package'. It was supposed to be for when the world got too much for his best jester but it was getting promoted.

Bruce looked down at the package in his hand. A turkey dinner in 8 minutes it boasted and he did momentarily wonder what could then take Alfred so long every Christmas.

'You should try this,'

He looked up as Harley spoke, holding out the box of microwaveable paella.

'It's dead simple.' she told him with a small smile as Bruce took the box and put it in his trolley.

'Thanks.'

'Your welcome. Shoot!' Harley looked down at her watch and slapping a hand to her head. 'I totally forgot - I've got to pick the dogs up from the vets. It was nice to meet you, Bruce.'

Bruce smiled a little, watching as Harley swung her handbag back onto her shoulder from the back of the trolley and held out her hand for them to shake goodbye.

'It was nice to meet you too. And thanks for the tip,' he said, tapping the paella box.'

'Anytime.' Harley replied, flashing him another large grin before she headed back down the aisle and out of the store, Bruce walking slowly to the check out.

Harley wasted no time hitting the gas the second she was in the truck, dialling her Puddin''s number on her cell as she sped away.

'Puddin' it's me Harley! You will never believe who I just met!'

And she pulled out onto the main road, leaving Bruce and his ticking TNT in the paella box back in aisle 12.


End file.
